Wingmen
by DarkSeverus
Summary: Ise Nanao is no stranger to wingmen. She is Matsumoto Rangiku's best friend, after all.


**Wingmen  
**by DarkSeverus

Shinigami Academy student Ise Nanao sighed.

"Hey, er…"

The man addressing her paused and gave her skinny body a skeptical once-over. Then he took a deep breath, steeled his will, and plunged on.

"Hey…_babe_. You're um… you're lookin' mighty _fine_ tonight."

Nanao ignored him, took a slow, deliberate sip of her tea, and smoothed out her uniform.

He didn't get the message.

"_So…_ you're a student up at the academy, eh? _Me too!_" he exclaimed with false enthusiasm. "You wanna come outside so I can show you this cool new kidou move I learned yesterday?"

Nanao rolled her eyes – or at least she thought about it. She settled for waving over the barman and gesturing for a refill instead.

"Um…"

Ah. So her reluctant suitor was finally losing steam. She sipped at her tea again and wondered mildly how much longer she would have to endure this torture.

"You know–" he tried again.

"Having fun, Nanao-chan?" came the too-cheerful voice of one Matsumoto Rangiku. She climbed into the empty seat on Nanao's left before noticing the man on her friend's right. "Who's your friend?"

"I have no idea who you're talking about," Nanao replied deadpan. "Where's yours?"

"Ah, you mean Goro-kun?" Matsumoto answered cheerfully while helping herself to a bowl of edamame. "Can you believe this? He fell asleep on me in the middle of our conversation!"

Nanao glanced over her shoulder and saw a hunched form passed out at another table. There were several empty sake bottles scattered around his head, and he was drooling liberally out of the corner of his mouth. She assumed the unconscious party to be Goro-kun.

She turned to the man at her right and addressed him directly for the first time that night.

"Don't you have somewhere you need to be?" she asked him calmly, pointing over her shoulder at Goro-kun's prostrate form.

He didn't' hear her at first. He was too busy trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Matsumoto had, well… _assets._

Nanao cleared her throat pointedly. He stopped ogling Matsumoto long enough to realize what had happened to his friend. Then he jumped up, rushed over to Goro, slung his comrade's arm over his shoulder, and heaved the man out of the bar and out into the cool evening air.

"Ne, Nanao-chan. Don't you think you were a little cold?" Matsumoto asked after he left.

"Not particularly," was the reply, and the two of them passed the rest of the evening undisturbed.

* * *

Ise Nanao was no stranger to wingmen.

She was Matsumoto Rangiku's best friend, after all. If she looked at these things logically—and she was, if anything, an extremely logical creature—it all made perfect sense. There are men, who have certain needs, and there are women, who can fulfill those needs. Therefore, where there are women (and more importantly breasts), there are wingmen.

And where there are breasts like Matsumoto's, there are wingmen by the _truckload_.

The male species, Nanao had observed early on, followed some unwritten code that required a man, in the event that a buddy of his wanted to capture the attention of a woman, to distract the obligatory "ugly" friend that the buddy's target always seemed to bring along to go drinking. The responsibilities of this "wingman" spanned everything from faking interest in the ugly friend to helping to drink the target into an alcoholic stupor and even backing up whatever lies the buddy told to make himself more attractive to the target.

You had to hand it to them, Nanao had always thought, not sure whether she should be horrified or impressed. They certainly put an extraordinary amount of effort into the thing.

To the misfortune of Matsumoto's countless would-be suitors, however, the buxom blonde was in possession of one of the most incredible cast iron livers Soul Society had ever seen. She could out-drink men ten times her size—_groups_ of men ten times her size—and she could do it several times a night _without _passing out, at that.

Nanao often thought to herself that the countless men who blacked out—and very possibly died of alcohol poisoning—while attempting out-drink her friend could at least find comfort in the fact that a tipsy Matsumoto was a clumsy Matsumoto, and a clumsy Matsumoto was prone to knocking cups and empty bottles to the floor and bending over to pick them up, inadvertently giving anyone sitting within a ten-yard radius of her table a very clear look at her… _friends_.

So although the casualties continued to pile up night after night, Nanao never felt sorry for any of them because, hey—at least the view had been good.

* * *

It wasn't until after both she and Matsumoto left the academy and took up seated positions in the Eighth Division that Ise Nanao discovered how to turn her extensive knowledge of wingmen to her advantage.

Admittedly, it was an encounter with the Eleventh Division's Ayasegawa Yumichika that gave her the idea, but Nanao liked to think that after a few years under Kyouraku-taichou's captaincy, she would have eventually had the same revelation all on her own.

That evening, Matsumoto had dragged her along to the opening of a new bar in the third district. Predictably, once they arrived, Matsumoto was immediately and aggressively engaged by a would-be suitor while Nanao was somehow shuffled over to the corner of the bar to sit by herself. Upon seeing the ringleader of the group of men who orchestrated this maneuver and taking in his bald head, red eyeshadow, and sideways grin, Nanao decided to avoid the threat of an impending headache entirely and sat alone in her corner of the bar without protest.

She only had time to ask the bartender for some oolong tea before she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder, turned around, and was nearly blinded by the dazzling smile of a… man? …woman?...beaming down at her.

At a complete loss for words, Nanao blinked. The stranger continued to dazzle her with that set of impressively white teeth before giving a pretty little cough and reciting, "Good evening. I simply wanted to inform you that under section 5, article A, paragraph 12 of the Manly Code of Manliness, I am obligated to engage your attentions for this evening while my companion sexually harasses your well-endowed friend." The man—by now, Nanao was fairly certain that it was a man—sniffed haughtily at the end of this speech as if in mild disapproval.

Nanao blinked slowly as she took in the stranger's flamboyant appearance—feathers, scarf, and all. It was a moment before her thoughts fell into place.

"There is a Manly Code of Manliness?" she finally offered.

The stranger smiled. "Yes, although I must say that as you are not a man, I am bound by chapter 1, section 3 to say no more on the subject."

Nanao's curiosity was piqued. After a slight pause, she gestured for the stranger to sit down. He did so promptly, adjusting his scarf prettily as he crossed his legs.

"Well this is a pleasant surprise," he chirruped. "It's nice to have agreeable company. From the looks of things we'll be here for quite some time."

Nanao looked over her shoulder and surveyed the situation with an expert eye. Matsumoto and the bald loudmouth had each downed a bottle of sake already, and they were showing no signs of slowing down.

"Your friend looks like he can hold his liquor, but I don't think he'll be able to stand after his fifth bottle," she assessed professionally.

The stranger raised his eyebrow, but didn't comment. He introduced himself as Ayasegawa Yumichika of the Eleventh. Nanao privately thought that she had never seen someone less Eleventh-like in her life.

Twenty minutes passed like a blur with Ayasegawa-san's cheerful company, and Nanao wasn't particularly surprised to see that exactly four more bottles of sake later, Matsumoto's bald suitor—third seat Madarame Ikkaku of the Eleventh, as it turned out—had passed out in a puddle of his own vomit.

On his way over to assist his friend, Ayasegawa Yumichika turned to Nanao, thanked her for the pleasant evening, and said, "That was quite the impressive prediction, Ise-san. You could do wonders in the gambling industry with a gift like that!"

As Ayasegawa flounced out of the bar, followed by two assistants lugging Ikkaku's unconscious form between them, Matsumoto bounced into the seat next to Nanao and began chattering at high speed.

Nanao didn't hear a word. The cogs of her mind were too busy turning, and an idea was forming in her head with all the formidable inevitability of a moving glacier.

* * *

A few days later, Abarai Renji, Iba Tetsuzaemon, Hisagi Shuuhei, and Kira Izuru lost all of their money to a quiet, bespectacled woman at a bar. She had seemed so harmless, asking them with calm decorum whether or not they were interested in placing a bet with her. They had accepted, of course, and had all done so with the appropriate amount of manly vigor as required from chapter 4, section 2 of the Manly Code of Manliness. How were they supposed to have known that the skinny woman with glasses could guess their respective capacities for alcohol with such fearsome accuracy? And what were they supposed to do when they lost—commit the ultimate sin and fail to pay up on a lost bet to a _woman_?

The humiliation of the defeat and the depressing lightness of their wallets only made their hangovers the next morning that much worse to bear. As such, Abarai Renji walked into the Eleventh Division commissary the next morning in a foul mood, thinking unkind thoughts about the woman from the night before and privately christening her Evil Glasses Woman, among a number of other, more colorful names.

It wasn't long before Renji felt that something wasn't right. It was oddly quiet. There were none of the Eleventh's usual morning sounds of brawling, bragging about the previous night's conquests, and cursing. Disoriented, Renji looked around and quickly discovered the source of the division's unease.

To his horror, the Evil Glasses Woman was sitting next to Yumichika at one of the commissary tables. Sitting across from them was none other than Ikkaku. There were piles of paper stacked in front of the three of them, and they were talking together in low voices.

Upon the realization that Pure Evil had infiltrated his division and had befriended the higher seated officers, Renji succumbed to the demands of his hangover and promptly passed out.

* * *

Yumichika sat next to Ise-san—_heavens_ knew that she needed to do something with her hair, but something about her was just so much _fun_—and tried desperately not to stare across the table at his best friend.

Ikkaku, meanwhile, was looking at Ise-san with a mixture of pride and nerves. Ise had a thick manuscript in her hands and was reading it with frightful intensity.

Curiosity got the best of him, and Yumichika scooted closer to Ise and started to read over her shoulder.

He glanced at the title and read:

_**The Wingman Technique: Don't Let Fatty Stop You From Scoring Hottie!**_

Written by Madarame Ikkaku, Third Seat, Eleventh Division.

In a state of morbid fascination that bordered on horror, Yumichika could do nothing but continue to read…

* * *

Fer the fuckin' idiots who dunno what the hell I'm talkin' about when I say "Renji, your turn to wingman tonight" or "Iba, my turn to be gunner," look no further. This book is your Salvation. The Wingman Technique is a tried and true strategy that is _the_ weapon of choice in every single man's arsenal. Fer those who're havin' trouble followin' so far, lemme dumb it down for ya: if yer lookin' to bag a hot one, a wingman is a surefire way to help you do it. Trust me, this shit is worth learning. Plus it's easy as pie!

Fer all you noobs out there, let's start at the beginning. What, exactly, _is_ a wingman?

_**Wingman** (wĭng'mən)_

_n. A buddy you take along on singles outings (i.e. bars, clubs, parties, other shindigs) to help you score with the chicks. _

And while we're at it…

_**Gunner** (gŭn'ər)_

_n. A guy who goes on singles outings to get laid. He always brings along a wingman, whose job it is to make sure he gets the hottest chick._

Now that yer down with the terminology, yer practically ready to start practicin' the technique! But before you go out there and make a complete fool of yerself, there're a few key concepts you gotta learn first. That's right, boys; it's Life Lesson time!

**LIFE LESSON #1**

**The greatest obstacle to a man getting laid is a woman's best friend.**

Let's get this straight, fellas: it doesn't matter who that best friend is: her mom, a gay guy, some ugly chick, or her zanpakutou. From the moment you lay eyes on that best friend, you gotta understand that they're Public Enemy Number One.

(Note: The only exception to this rule occurs when the best friend is also a Hottie. In that case, far from being Public Enemy Number One, the best friend is A Gift From God, and you should act accordingly.)

So what do I mean by Public Enemy Number One? I always say it's easier to learn by doing, so put yerself in this fella's shoes and think about how you'd react:

_You're at a bar. This total babe walks in – think Matsumoto Rangiku hot – and sits down at the counter with a friend. You're looking to score; how do you proceed?_

_a) Walk up to her and drop a line._

_b) Pay for her drinks and have the barman deliver while you sit there lookin' cool._

_c) Wait until some other drunk asshole starts pawing at her and run 'im off all chivalrous-like._

Alright, boys, so what's the correct answer? Well, in my experience, any one of the options would work (depending on the hottie, of course). There's no bad choice, really. So what's the problem?

The problem is the fact that no matter how much yer hottie likes you, no matter how good of an impression you make, and no matter how hot she thinks you are, she ain't gonna abandon the friend she came into the bar with. No abandonment = no leaving with you = no luck.

Enter the wingman.

Now you're free to engage the attentions of the Hottie of your choice while your wingman watches your back and occupies the time of your Hottie's tagalong friend. Genius, ain't it?

You boys out there gotta understand one thing, though: it's the wingman's responsibility to do his task to the best of his abilities, _regardless of how ugly the friend is_. Still, your wingman pals should be allowed two passes a year for those fat-hairy-ass-hanging-out-of-skirt situations. Save 'em up and make 'em count, boys. You only get two!

This brings us to our second Life Lesson, taken from the Manly Code of Manliness (also known as the Thug Code of Honor) chapter 4, section 1:

**LIFE LESSON #2**

**Bros before ho's.**

Remember, fellas: real men respect the brotherhood of single guys everywhere.

* * *

… at which point Yumichika could force himself to read no further. He sat stunned for a moment and then gaped at his friend.

" '_Bros before ho's_,'" he repeated in a disbelieving monotone. "Sheer poetry."

Ikkaku grinned proudly, completely missing the sarcasm. "Ain't it?"

Yumichika managed to quash the urge to bang his head on the table in frustration, but just barely. He closed his eyes and rubbed at his temple slowly instead.

"So you managed to fill…" he flipped quickly to the back of the manuscript to check – "_four hundred pages_ with this… _drivel?_"

Ikkaku beamed proudly and nodded.

Yumichika sat blank-faced, honestly at a loss for words. He was shaken out of his reverie by Nanao's voice.

" 'Life Lesson #77,'" Nanao quoted. Yumichika looked down at the manuscript in her hands and noticed that she was already well over halfway through. " 'The wingman should always be of equal or greater knowledge than the gunner. A wingman that is too inexperienced will only hold back the gunner.' Nanao skimmed further ahead a bit, then looked up from her reading at last, looking pleased. "Ayasegawa-san, against my will, I am actually impressed," she announced.

"You are?" Yumichika asked incredulously.

"Aren't you?" Nanao replied matter-of-factly. "The material is both enlightening and sure to be popular with readers. Madarame-san is very good at explaining things in such a way that it is simultaneously entertaining and easy to understand. He is very talented in this respect."

Yumichika gaped. "He… _is?_" he asked incredulously. Ikkaku grinned proudly in the background.

"He is," Nanao confirmed. She smoothed out the pages of the manuscript and turned to Ikkaku. "I will need to look at this a little more closely, Madarame-san, but I am confident that with a few minor edits, your manuscript will be ready for publication in no time."

Ikkaku whooped and nearly fell out of his seat for sheer joy. Yumichika opened his mouth to comment, but was interrupted by a flash of pink.

"Ne, ne, Ikkun, what's so exciting?" Yachiru asked, perched on Ikkaku's bald head.

Yumichika took it upon himself to answer for his best friend. It was a moment before he found the right words.

"Well, fukutaichou," he began slowly. "While it may be difficult for some to believe, against all odds, Ikkaku is to become… an _author_."

* * *

In the months to follow, unsuspecting bargoers all over Seireitei emptied their wallets to Ise Nanao and joined Abarai Renji in his belief that she was the Ultimate Incarnation of Evil. It was with this funding that _**The Wingman Technique: Don't Let Fatty Stop You From Scoring Hottie! **_was released to rave reviews. Shortly thereafter, Nanao established Ise Publications, Inc. and planned additional publications for release.

It was only a short time later that Ise Publications became a powerhouse corporation, publishing such hits as _**Five Hundred Pleasurable Positions**_ by Kyouraku Shunsui (complete with diagrams), _**The Kuchiki Byakuya Fan Photobook**_ (featuring full-color candid photos submitted by Shihouin Yoruichi), _**Pet Grooming: The Basics**_ by Komamura Sajin, and _**The Matsumoto Rangiku Calendar: Swimsuit Edition**_ (free full-size poster inside!).

It was in this fashion that Nanao was able to amass an incredible fortune, the likes of which Soul Society had never seen. That is, until Yamamoto-soutaichou demanded that the Eight Division pay their sake bill.

After which she was back to square one.


End file.
